Home Again
by MPettigrew
Summary: OneShot. Sodapop returns home from Vietnam. It's twothirty in the morning and I can't think of a better title right now.


I didn't want my brother Sodapop going off to war. He was only eighteen when he left, and I did not think that I could live without him. But I felt a sense of pride too. Whenever someone spoke about Vietnam, or talked about how their boy was over their, it sort of felt good to know that someone in my family was over there doing something about it, even if I didn't like it.

Darry didn't want Soda to go either. I think it nearly killed him as we stood outside the bus station, hugging Soda goodbye, for what could have been the last time. It had been just the three of us for about two years then, and it was tough letting someone go when you knew that you didn't have to.

Two-Bit and Steve were there too. Two-Bit with Darry and me to say goodbye, and Steve with Soda, to go off and fight for our country. I think Two-Bit even cried a little too. For Sodapop and Steve this was all an adventure, the beginning of something great, but for the rest of us, it was like everything was changing all over again, and just when we had started to feel comfortable too.

We heard from Soda a lot while he was over there. Wrote us a few letters, but most of them were recorded. Felt good to hear his voice, and he always sounded so happy to be talking to us, like he was home again, laying in bed next to me or sitting on the couch talking about all of his plans.

As time went on his letters started getting a little darker, and it was like he was trying to cover up how bad things really were over there. But we knew. It was on the news every night. Seemed like nothing good was coming out of the war, and I wished everyday that it would be over soon. Then Soda would come home, and things would be all right again. Darry would quit being so anxious all the time and I would have someone around to tell me that everything was going to be okay again.

One day we got word from Soda that in two weeks he would be coming home. His tour was over, was coming home to see us, and he had big news. Teased us in his letter, saying that we would just have to wait until he got home to find out what it was, but I don't think neither Darry nor I cared much that he wasn't telling us. He was coming home for good, and that was something to look forward to in itself.

Darry was getting the house all ready for Soda, working extra hard to make sure there was money for food when our brother got home.

"They feed you real good in the army," Soda had said once, laughing. I guess Darry didn't want to disappoint him, or maybe he was just so relieved that he was safe that he was willing to do whatever he could to make Soda wish that he had stayed home.

I was sitting at the desk one day, working on some homework when the phone rang. Darry answered it. I don't know who it was, but he hung up pretty soon and took off from the house, telling me he'd be home soon. I didn't think much of it, and when my brother got home I had forgotten all about it.

The next day Darry told me what the phone call had been about. It was a friend of his who had some news regarding Soda. He was coming home earlier than expected. He got shot in battle, and they were sending him back to us. He was no use to them anymore.

Now Darry and I are waiting outside of the same bus station where we bid Soda goodbye not so long ago. Two-bit isn't with us; he said this sort of thing should be a family reunion, and only family. There's someone waiting nearby with a car to give us a ride.

My oldest brother is standing up straight and tall next to me, with a look that says he might cry the minute he catches sight of Soda.

And me, I'm not sure how to look. Leaning against the wall doesn't seem appropriate, but I can't imitate Darry's look either. So instead I cram my fists into my pocket and brace myself. I don't want to cry either.

I can feel my heart pounding frantically, and it's only because the bus has just pulled up at the station. But it's not the bus we're waiting for. It's the car next to it. I watch as a group of boys, maybe six or eight of them, not much older than myself, help my brother out of the back, his body hidden in a box, a box covered by a flag.

I know he won't be telling me his big news.

Once I heard somebody say, "So this is what you get for trying to help people?" I guess they were right.


End file.
